


To Be Alone (With You)

by Mjs_Wonderland



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bucky Barnes - Freeform, Cute, Drabble, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff, Innocent, Introverts, Isolation, Light Angst, Loneliness, One Shot, Panic Attacks, Professor barnes, Shakespeare, Short, Sonnets, Story, Triggers, University, WARNING mentions anxiety, all the tags are way to drastic and intense but somehow i ha totag this, nondescriptive protagonist, omg tags, what
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-10
Updated: 2017-02-10
Packaged: 2018-09-23 05:22:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9642464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mjs_Wonderland/pseuds/Mjs_Wonderland
Summary: She is obsessed with her hot Professor. Little does she know what goes on in his head. Angst/FLuff/Anxiety





	

**Author's Note:**

> Short Short. Listened to Hozier and the Cloud Atlas Soundtrack while writing this.There is a little bit of Angst and mentions of panic attacks and anxiety also probably depression trigger warning. But also Fluff. ~Have fun~ PS. I apologize for the weird format... Its about 2 am and I really just want to put this up. <3

She had been watching him. Ever since her first semester when he had walked into the lecture hall for the very first time, she had been unable to forget him. He was young, somewhere in his early to mid-thirties, he was handsome, she'd go as far as to call him beautiful even. Tall, ocean blue eyes, sharp jawline, full lips and always a little stubble. What she noticed about him though, he never smiled. He seemed outright gloomy. His lectures were the most interesting and mesmerizing she had ever witnessed, but somehow, whenever he stopped talking about Literature it seemed like a light was turned off inside him. He didn't have a TA, nor was he ever seen at _any_ events. Also, she had never seen him somewhere else than in the lecture hall or on his way to his office. His office was in the back corner of the library of the old Anglophone Studies Complex. She spent many days there studying, preferring the calm and quiet atmosphere of the old library rather than the bright neon lights and the busy bustling of other students. Sometimes it was only her in the building, not even the librarian, and him. Almost as if they were there together, she sometimes thought. It was wrong to be so obsessed with her professor, but what was she supposed to do? She simply _could not_ stop thinking about him. The way his eyes lit up whenever he introduced them to a new subject, but never, never had he been as lively as today when he spoke about for Shakespeare. He had been pacing up and down the room, trying to get everyone else to _understand_ and not just read, to FEEL and LIVE what was written.

 

“Literature is LIVED not read! It is alive. It has been for centuries. Every interpretation, every adaption, essay or thought ever to come from a book, a play or a sonnet is evidence that the source material is not dead matter, metaphorically speaking, it lives through the minds of those doing more than just plainly reading out a few lines.” And she did. She understood. The first piece of literature she had ever read from beginning to end, voluntarily, had been the Scottish play. It had scared her and confused her but in the end she was captivated by Shakespeare and should stay so for the rest of her life. And now she had found the man of her dreams, at least that's what her fangirling conscious told her. Thus she sat in the old library even on days when she hadn't much to do. She chose a table he had to pass whenever he entered or left his office. She felt comfortable in silence surrounded by books. On this particular day, she wasn't focusing her mind on him, for once. She was immersed in Sonnet 29. He had told them to read plays and lyrics aloud to themselves, to get a feel for intonation and rhythm. She sat there reading, only concentrating on the piece in front of her and her own voice. She didn't hear him come in, didn't see him hesitate when he heard her voice.

 

 

 

He stood there, in the shadows, listening. He knew this voice. He had heard the voice the first time a few years ago. It was a lecture like any other, he liked teaching but it demotivated him how apathetic students were today. He knew that the financial and social pressure on university students was greater than ever, he couldn't blame them for losing their motivation and enthusiasm on the way. But she, she was different.

He had asked a question, really basic. “Can anyone name 3 scribes, authors or poets that have changed the way we speak today? Preferably British and from a time before the Modern English period.” There was a great silence facing him, but then a delicate hand slowly rose.”Yes?” She looked up and he was startled by the beauty he saw. Her big eyes stared at him, white teeth biting a luscious lower lip painted in a dark red, almost like blood. Deep and mesmerizing. “Tyndale, Chaucer and Shakespeare” Her voice was floating through the room like a melody. “Can you tell me what period they are from and, or why they were significant?” He found himself wanting her to speak more. JUST one more sentence, each syllable more precious than the last. “Chaucer wrote the Canterbury Tales which is one of the oldest English texts we still have, Tyndale wrote the first English Bible under Henry VIII, which was the first officially printed and published book in what would become standard English and Shakespeare basically reinvented the English language during the Elizabethan era by changing spelling and even inventing new words.” She had spoken hastily, as if it was almost unbearable to speak up but it seemed it had been more unbearable to not speak at all. “Thanks. That's actually all true. If you didn't know at least 2 of the names she said, you should write this down.” And after that he had never heard her voice again. This was 3 years ago. She had been in one of his lectures every semester, but she had never spoken up again. He only knew her name because there was always this one essay that outshone every other. And she got better with every semester. Some people would say it is impossible to study under the same professor for 3 years and not talk to him once, but it was, if the professor was keen on not having to talk to his students either.

He realized that he was still just standing in the shadows watching her. He contemplated leaving again, but where would he go? His office was where he had his peace.

 

“ _When, in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes,_  
_I all alone beweep my outcast state,_  
_And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,_  
_And look upon myself, and curse my fate_  
_Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,_  
_Featur'd like him, like him with friends possess'd,_  
_Desiring this man's art and that man's scope,_  
_With what I most enjoy contented least,_  
_Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,_  
_Haply I think on thee, and then my state,_  
_Like to the lark at break of day arising_  
_From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate;_  
_For thy sweet love remember'd such wealth brings_  
_That then I scorn to change my state with kings.”_

 

Her voice floated through the room again and pulled him in. Her brow was furrowed and she was biting her lip. “What do you want from me?” She said to the text in front he of her. He didn't even think about it but suddenly he stepped forward. “Ever had a really horrible day, a day that makes you want to give up on life itself, but then you think of something,- someone, and everything doesn't seem so bad anymore?” She was startled. “Yes.” was all she was able to get out. He walked towards her, suddenly nervous. “That's what he's feeling.” He leaned over her book pointing to a line. “'Haply I think on thee, and then my state / Like to the lark at break of day arising' Think about this. Switch the word 'state' with 'melancholy'. Easier?” She stared at the book, he could see her think. “I see.” Her features relaxed. “Thank you Professor Barnes. I was having trouble with this.” She didn't look up. And he was glad she didn't. She would see, he was sure. She would see what he was sure he couldn't hide from those big, deep eyes that seemed to swallow him whole whenever he accidentally made eye contact with her. She was always there, in his library. Always seated in view of his office. He couldn't imagine why she'd do this on purpose, maybe she was scared alone in here. But why wasn't she with the others? At first he felt invaded by her presence, but now, especially now that he was standing next to her, he was glad. He had no idea what to do next. “So...if you need me... I mean..help. If you need me to help you out some more, I'm in my office.” He turned around and hurried in his safe space.  
  


 

 

She was shell-shocked. What had just happened? Why did he talk to her? The situation was overwhelming, she felt a panic attack coming on. “Not now. Not now. Not now.” She started rocking back and forth. It had been 3 years since she had her last panic attack. She knew she could calm down, she knew she could fight this. There was nothing to get riled up about. He had just talked. But he had stood so close. She felt the warmth coming from his body, even smelled a hint of cologne on him. It was more than she ever dreamed of and way more than she could handle. And yet, strangely, she was the happiest she has ever been, as far as she could remember. She felt herself going into hyperventilation, she'd faint in a few minutes and probably bust her head open and then he would find her and call an ambulance and it would be embarrassing and like a machine gun the evil thoughts came at her, pushing and shoving her deeper into the darkest corner of her anxiety. Keeping her there until she could feel her body becoming limb, falling in slow-motion.

 

He had looked out of his window and at the back of her head. She started rocking back and forth, he knew what this was. It had happened to him many many times. And though it had been years since the last one, he knew when he saw a panic attack. Before he could think about it, he hurried to her and just when he reached out to her, she fell to the side and slipped of the chair. He leaped forward and caught her, her unconscious head rolling on his shoulder. He picked her up and carried her to his office. First he propped up her feet then he checked her pulse. The color was returning to her face and she slowly opened her eyes. He stepped back as to not startle her. “Ms. Moriarty, you're safe, don't worry. I saw you fall and I thought you might not want to have the whole campus watching you get carried out on a stretcher so I brought you to my office. The door is open.” He knew that in this mindset one was fragile, also he figured him being so close must have triggered it. He knew he should stay away from people. Slowly she sat up. “I...I don't get them much anymore. I don't know...” “Don't worry about it. I will treat this with the utmost confidentiality.” He turned away, hoping she'd leave soon so she wouldn't see his hurt.

 

 

She looked at his back and how he hung his head low. Her mind was foggy but she sensed he was upset. She had upset him. He probably hated to have people around him. She should leave. Now. “I'm so sorry Professor Barnes, I didn't mean to bother you. I swear I don't usually get those, I was just so tired and stressed and you came out of nowhere and I know you like your peace and I...” She had to catch her breath if she didn't want to hyperventilate again from falling and stumbling over her own tongue. “I'm sorry.” She simply said again and got up. On wobbly feet she made her way to the door, but before she reached it she was already feeling faint again. He whipped around and again caught her before she could bust her head open. Somewhere in her head there was a little voice groaning in disappointment at the injury that could have happened but didn't – everything was fine if it left her no choice but to stay at home and preferably in bed not studying. But that voice was silenced by the alarm bells ringing in her head. She. Was. Touching. Him. More precisely she was in his arms, her face only inches away from his. Looking ahead she saw his perfect mouth. She didn't even realize but she bit her lower lip; However, he noticed. His brain was racing. She was so close. She smelled of honey and sunshine. He licked his lips, unconsciously, but she saw it. Her heart threatened to burst out of her chest at any moment. She couldn't back away. Her eyes wandered upwards, his perfectly shaped cheekbones, that straight nose and there they were, these incredibly blue eyes. And they were diving into hers. Her hands rested on his shoulders, his steadied her around her waist. If she stretched only an inch she'd be able to... He knew that it would take only a second to bend down and...

 

 

Inches. They were breathing fast and heavy. Neither of them said a word, they only looked at each other. It had been minutes. There was a nonverbal understanding between them. At least they hoped so. He was waiting and hoping, she was wishing and gathering her courage. “Don't let this be wrong” echoed through both their heads. Her arms slowly reached around his neck and she locked her fingers behind his head.

Millimeters. He could count her eyelashes. She could feel his chest pressing against hers. SO close. And still it could have been oceans for her. She couldn't. He took a deep breath. Her chest was pressing against his. She had moved closer. She didn't run. She didn't turn away. She was different. She felt right in his arms. He knew what he wanted to do. Those lips. But that meant not looking into those eyes, in which he was on the verge of getting lost writing sonnets himself. The memory of those eyes, of this moment would be what drove his melancholy away from now on more than ever. But could he really? Was she sure? Her brow furrowed just slightly, he knew he needed to do something now or she'd leave for ever probably. It felt like they were standing there forever. Just the two of them in his office full of books and papers. Dimly lit, all alone in an almost ancient building. Only the walls to bear witness. Even if she'd run away after, he'd find a new job. He just had to take this opportunity. But what if she didn't? He saw her eyes drop to his lips again. He'd been biting his lip. She sighed. And something inside of him just couldn't take it anymore.

 

His lips crashed down on hers. He finally understood what Shakespeare meant when he wrote

 

“ _Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks_

_Within his bending sickle's compass come;_

_Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,_

_But bears it out even to the edge of doom._

_If this be error and upon me proved,_

_I never writ, nor no man ever loved.”_

 

 

because, he realized, he had loved her from the very first time he had seen the light in her eye. They broke apart, breathing hard. “Professor...” “Call me Bucky.” He smiled. Her eyes widened with surprise but she smiled as well. He kissed her again.

 

**Author's Note:**

> The Sonnets used are: 29 and 116  
> What is said about Shakespeare, Chaucer and Tyndale is actually true.
> 
> Want more like this? I take prompts and stuff but it might take a while :) just pm me or comment


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